


omfg (the hot guy remix)

by elisela



Series: to the hot guy on the plane [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: Derek’s quiet for a long minute; she’s learned to give him wait time, knows that he considers his words carefully, and just as she’s about to demand an answer he says “I met a guy.”Her mouth drops open. “Siri, call Laura,” she says, and Derek groans. They get into a brief slapping fight—Derek trying to hit the end call icon on the screen and her trying to keep him away—until he concedes defeat when she accidentally swerves into another lane just before Laura answers. “Derek met a guy!” she yells before he can say anything.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: to the hot guy on the plane [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173527
Comments: 22
Kudos: 551





	omfg (the hot guy remix)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know.

Cora’s on time for once. It’s not in her nature—she runs perpetually late, a characteristic (some would say flaw) that irritates her whole family, otherwise known as the biggest group of overachievers she knows. She has a New York State senator for a mother, a former head of neurology for a father, an older sister that anchors her own show on CNN, and the youngest professor to be offered tenure in the political economy department at Georgetown University for a brother. Her family is intelligent, reserved, and respectful—which means being _punctual_ , _Cora Jean_. 

The “time is relative” argument has never worked with her family. 

But she’s on time, pulling up in the pick-up lane at Dulles just as her phone chimes with a text from Derek, triumphant look on her face. So it figures that when Derek slides into the car, weekend bag at his feet, he doesn’t mention it at all. He doesn’t mention _anything_ , just pauses with his hand on the still-open door and looks back at the airport with a wistful look on his face. 

“Spill,” she says, pushing the gear shift into park and leaning across him to grab for the door. He pushes her away and closes it, but not without turning his head again, and—weird. Very weird. Derek’s always been a little weird, but this is a new, different type of strange and she needs to know what’s going on immediately. She jabs him hard in the side, slaps his hand away when he retaliates, shifts the car back into drive and takes her foot off the brake. “What’s going on?”

Derek’s quiet for a long minute; she’s learned to give him wait time, knows that he considers his words carefully, and just as she’s about to demand an answer he says “I met a guy.” 

Her mouth drops open. “Siri, call Laura,” she says, and Derek groans. They get into a brief slapping fight—Derek trying to hit the end call icon on the screen and her trying to keep him away—until he concedes defeat when she accidentally swerves into another lane just before Laura answers. “Derek met a guy!” she yells before he can say anything. 

“Derek—our Derek? Met a guy?”

“Our Derek!”

“Derek met a guy!” Laura exclaims, her voice loud and bright as it comes out the car speakers. “What’s his name? What’s he do? What’s he look like? Tell me everything.”

“He sat next to me on the plane,” Derek says. Cora frowns at the tightness in his voice and glances over, his arms are crossed over his chest protectively, and he’s—pouting. 

Huh.

“That’s not everything, Derek,” Laura says. “What’d you talk about? Did he hit on you? Of course he did, everyone hits on you. What made you respond? You never respond, Mom was just saying we need to look into one of those matchmakers you have to pay thirty thousand for because—”

“He didn’t talk to me,” Derek mutters, and for as much as Cora lives to tease her brother and seek out opportunities to make fun of him mercilessly, her heart drops at the dejected look on his face. 

Laura stays silent. 

“I tried talking to him,” Derek adds, “but he barely answered my questions and just went back to reading his book.”

She reaches over and squeezes his arm, unsure what to say. Cora’s never been the one to give advice—she shows Derek she loves him through fine-tuned sibling irritation, plying him with sugar, and bullying him into doing yoga with her. Laura’s the advice giver, so Cora flips on her turn signal—there’s a Dairy Queen up the road, and Derek loves ice cream when he’s sad—and shuts up. 

“You didn’t give him your number or anything?” Laura asks. “You could have written it down and given it to him at the end, you carry three notebooks on you at all times, why didn’t you—”

“He didn’t want to talk to me,” Derek interrupts, “and I’m done talking about this. So he wasn’t interested, it’s not the end of the world.”

It’s a healthy approach, which immediately raises suspicion with Cora because Derek and healthy coping mechanisms have never gone hand in hand. Derek hadn’t even considered an arson charge a red flag when he started dating Kate—there’s absolutely no way he won’t dwell on this until the end of time. He’s just not wired to let things go easily. 

She changes the subject after Laura hangs up, ignores his protests that he doesn’t need her to hang out with him while he does laundry and grocery shopping, and is in the middle of sliding her hand slowly under the cushion he’s hidden the television remote under when he says, out of nowhere, “he was really—he was beautiful, Cora. He had these eyes—I don’t know how to explain it. He even smelled good.”

Derek and his lifelong obsession with how people smell has always been a source of amusement for her, and prime mocking material on top of that, but she still can’t bring herself to tease him. He deserves a day or two to mourn what might have been, and then she’ll pull him back to the land of the living and the harsh reality that being a workaholic hermit will not help him achieve his goal of finding love. Not that she’s actually sure that’s a goal of his—Derek’s always been a loner, doesn’t date casually, and his relationships are few and far between. 

Still—if it is, maybe she should throw her energy into helping him instead of bottling it all up to be used later to make his life miserable. After all, wouldn’t it be more fun to make fun of him _with_ someone? People don’t ignore Derek—Derek ignores people. Anyone who had a chance to hook up with her brother and passed on it to read a book is someone she wants to meet.

“What do you know about him?” she asks, because Derek might not be good at internet stalking, but she is. She’s excellent at it, in fact—has tags on all her ex-boyfriends and their new girlfriends, knows exactly how to find someone’s entire online presence with nothing more than a nickname and a vague idea of an age, or an area code and the name of their dog. If Derek knows anything about this guy, Cora will find him. So she listens—and listens, and listens some more—as Derek recounts their brief conversation several times over, details what the guy was wearing and the book he was reading, and admits that all he’d gotten from a peek at his boarding pass was that his last name started with “Sti”.

She spends hours the next day trying to track him down—scrolls through thousands of Facebook profiles that have liked the Capitals page, looks up common last names that start with those letters and searches for profiles of people who live in the D.C. area with said names, and searches Amazon and Goodreads for recent reviews of the book the guy had been reading. Derek tells her she’s going too far and then promptly buries his face in his Kindle—Cora happily makes fun of him for managing to get a book title but no phone number and calls him a nerd at least three times for reading the book in one sitting. 

In the end, though, it comes down to luck. Facebook searches have been fruitless, so she switches over to Twitter late that night even though she’s pretty sure it’s a lost cause. She’s only got the vaguest idea of what this guy looks like, and Derek’s idea of specifics is to tell her he had a “constellation of moles” on his face when she calls him and demands more details.

“I’m hiding your poetry books,” she tells him, and he hangs up on her. 

She intends to search the hashtags and look at profile pictures—but the very first retweet on the Caps account is a missed connection, and she sucks in a breath when she sees the picture of the guy. 

“Oh my fucking God,” she mutters to herself, sitting straight up on the couch and reading the tweet two more times just to make sure she’s not hallucinating.

He does, she thinks, have very pretty eyes. Deep golden brown and dark lashes that make them look bigger, and Derek wasn’t wrong to call him beautiful, but maybe he could have limited it to just once or twice instead of seventy-eight times over the course of a day. She fumbles her phone when she sees the book title is the same one Derek’s been reading, but just in case—because she can’t bear to get Derek’s hopes up if this is all some sort of coincidence on a cosmic level—she calls Laura. 

“What was Derek’s flight number?” she asks as soon as her sister picks up, hitting the button to put her on speaker and taking a screenshot of the tweet. “I think I found him, Lo—he was looking for Derek. I’ll send you—there, check your texts. Was that the flight he was on?”

“Hold on, it’s in my email,” Laura says, and a moment later she sucks in an audible breath. “It was 479, oh my God, _Cora_. Derek is gonna flip out, hold on, I’ll add him—”

“No,” she says quickly, “Lo, don’t.”

“You have to tell him—”

“I _will_ ,” she says, but she knows Derek and how he works, knows he’ll overthink everything and end up not contacting this guy at all. “Just—not yet. He already thinks this guy isn’t interested, if we leave it up to him he’ll just talk himself out of messaging him. So I’ll do it for him, and _then_ I’ll tell Derek.”

Laura tells her exactly what to write and Cora rolls her eyes, makes agreeable noises, and completely ignores her. She adds some pictures of Derek—one from Laura’s wedding where he’s looking right into the camera, and then another one where he’s outdoors and happy—and shirtless, because she knows objectively that Derek is attractive and she’s willing to take advantage of that fact if it’ll get her brother a date. She sends the first message before she can really censor herself, realizes she probably shouldn’t call him a grumpy asshole to someone she’s trying to set him up with and sends a second message where she mentions he teaches at Georgetown just in case this guy is someone who’s impressed by that. 

Cora knows better than to be impressed by anywhere that would hire her dumbass brother. 

It’s _torture_ to wait, but she bites her tongue the next morning when Derek asks if she wants to go to the game with him over the weekend and just says yes. She wants to tell him so badly—wants to see him smile again, for god’s sake—but there’s a thread of doubt that runs through her mind, and her message still shows as unread, so she ignores it. The time ticks closer to 4pm; she can’t stop checking the message to see if it’s been read, so of course it’s just as she’s getting ready for her yoga class, scrolling through Spotify to find the right playlist, that a notification from twitter pops up and she almost drops the phone.

@loseronflight479: hi, Stiles saw your message and ran out of here so fast that he didn’t think to message you. It will take him about an hour to get there, would you please tell your brother he’s on his way? He’ll be devastated if he misses him, your brother is all I’ve heard about for the last two days.

Cora resists the urge to shriek—it’s not exactly the mood she’s trying to set for class—sends a screenshot to Laura and finally texts Derek with a screenshot from both the original tweet and the message.

 **Cora:** I DON’T HAVE TIME TO CALL YOU PLEASE DON’T LEAVE HE’LL SHOW UP I PROMISE I SENT HIM A SHIRTLESS PICTURE OF YOU.

She gets a response back almost immediately but has to ignore it; she’s already a little past the start time for her class and this is the one area in her life that she can—mostly—manage to start on time.

It’s torture, though, leading them through the flow of positions when all she wants to do is call her brother and alternately brag, demand he thank her, and coach him through talking to someone he’s probably built up in his head to be larger than life. But she manages, and as soon as the class is over, snatches up her phone and calls him without checking the twenty-three texts he’d sent.

“I told you not to call,” he answers, and she interrupts whatever speech he’s about to give her.

“Is he there?” she asks, barely pausing to hear him confirm that he is before barrelling on. “Is it really him? Ask him to dinner, Derek, are you gonna ask him to dinner?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Derek says, sounding exasperated.

She knows he’s three seconds away from hanging up on her so she just yells, “You better name your first child after me, loser!” and hardly waits for an answer before she hangs up on him. It’s nearly five and Derek is nothing if not predictable—he’ll probably ask Stiles if he wants to get dinner in about an hour, and since they’re in Georgetown he’ll take him to The Tombs because he’s a loser who only likes to go places he already knows, which means he’ll probably be home and in bed around ten like he usually is.

God, he hopes this guy can shake up his routine a little. Derek desperately needs it. 

He doesn’t answer when she calls that night—probably already in bed, she’d gone out for drinks with some friends and lost track of time—so she wakes up early enough to intercept him in the morning before he heads to class. They only live a few blocks from each other and Derek always walks to work, so rather than call and be ignored again, she drags herself out of bed and down the street in order to bang on his door at just past seven in the morning—

—only to have it flung open by Stiles, who looks startled to see her for all of two seconds before he lunges forward and hugs her.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and her mouth drops open as she hugs him back, stunned for a brief moment before he calls out a goodbye and a promise to text Derek before bounding down the stairs.

“Oh my fucking _God_ ,” she says, looking at the doorway where Derek, whose cheeks are already flushed pink, appeared. “Oh my God, Derek Hale, did you already sleep with him?”

“No,” Derek says, scowling at her, and she looks at him critically but he doesn’t appear to be lying. Definitely off his routine; she’d figured he’d be heading out the door by now, but he’s still in sweats with his hair sticking up in every direction, mug of coffee cradled in his hand. “We just talked. He stayed over because it was late.”

She narrows her eyes and glances over at the couch, which looks as bare as it always does. “In your bed?” Derek ducks his head, and she slaps his arm with the back of her hand and shrieks over his protests that they hadn’t even kissed yet. “Come on, loser, go get ready and I’ll make you breakfast. I want to hear _everything_.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me at [tumblr](https://elisela.tumblr.com/post/643653365034811392/omfg-the-hot-guy-remix-elisela-teen-wolf)


End file.
